Warrior's Moon

by Lucy Monroe

  “Go after him,” she instructed.

  “Nay.” The fury in his tone made the word more a bark than anything recognizable.

  He would not leave her and the children unprotected.

  “Sinclair’s soldiers will be here soon enough. I will go after him then.”

  Suddenly another wolf streaked past, which she recognized as Maon. She’d thought he was coming around, but then she’d thought Sean was completely won over already.

  The sound of a loud bark came through the brush, then breaking branches, snarls and yelps, followed by a howl cut off mid-vocalization.

  Maon came trotting back a moment later, his muzzle covered in blood, his hackles still raised.

  Caelis dropped to a crouch and met the wolf with pats from his oversized beast’s hands, growls and croons that could be nothing but praise and thanks. Though Shona did not pretend to speak wolf.

  Caelis stood. “There is a stream that way. Go wash the blood of battle away.”

  The wolf obeyed and Shona clamped down her desire to point out that he still hadn’t sworn fealty. Sean had as good as, but without conviction.

  Caelis turned to the remaining two wolves. “Chrechte law states my mate and family are paramount. Speak your intentions to follow or defy me now.”

  The man Shona had never met stood. “I am not of the MacLeod clan.”

  “And yet you do the laird’s bidding.”

  “I was ordered by my alpha to accompany the others on this quest.”

  “To destroy me.”

  “And the other Uven considers a deserter.”

  “We were to bring you back,” the other MacLeod Chrechte said.

  “To what purpose?” Shona had to wonder.

  “To make an example of your mate and the other one.”

  She frowned. “Why do you not name him?”

  Did this man think he was too good to speak the name of another he considered a deserter?

  “We do not know which of the warriors lives.”

  “Oh.”

  Caelis did not offer the name of his fellow soldier. He glared down at the two men. “Choose now.”

  “I cannot swear fealty,” the non-MacLeod said, but raised his hand in supplication at Caelis’s growl. “I have been raised Fearghall from birth. You demand I abandon my brethren. My father.”

  “He is pack alpha,” Shona guessed.

  The man looked startled at her perception.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a human woman, not an idiot.”

  “I give my word that no harm will come to you, your mate or your family by my hand or instigation.” The man put his fist over his heart and bowed his head again. “You are conriocht, blessed by all that we hold sacred.”

  Caelis nodded. “I accept, but you will not go free.”

  The man did not look surprised at all by Caelis’s pronouncement.

  “And you?” Caelis demanded of the other soldiers.

  Both men dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, speaking vows in what her father had once told her was the ancient language. She’d thought it was ancient Gaelic. Now she knew differently.

  ’Twas no doubt the original language of their people.

  Caelis relaxed marginally and barked something back at them she did not understand.

  He turned to her. “There is no more danger.”

  She did not ask if he was certain—not after the way he’d known Sean’s heart even when the man presented the face of a friend.

  “What happens to them now?” she asked.

  “They’ll be trained by me.”

  * * *

  Caelis watched, unsurprised, as the Sinclair approached, his countenance grim. Though Shona and even the other wolves had seemed oblivious, Caelis had heard the other soldiers moving quickly through the forest for the past several minutes.

  His conriocht had sensed the approach of the alpha as well, though Talorc moved with absolute stealth.

  Caelis turned to the laird. “You heard it all?”

  “Aye.” Talorc’s frown was fierce. “You are conriocht.”

  “You make that sound an accusation.” If Shona’s own glare were directed at him, it would have made even Caelis cringe. “He saved our lives.”

  “He revealed his third form to humans and to Faol who are unaware of the return of our race’s protectors.”

  Maon returned from washing himself in the stream, having transformed back to man. “I shifted first.”

  Caelis wasn’t worried about the Sinclair’s anger, though he respected Maon for his honesty and willingness to have that ire directed at him. But nothing would have kept Caelis from shifting to his fiercest form when his mate and children were in danger; Talorc should have been well aware of that fact.

  Dismissing the other alpha’s wrath from his mind, Caelis focused on regaining his human form now that his family was no longer in imminent danger. Heat suffused his body and the air compressed around him in a way it did not when he shifted back and forth from his wolf.

  A moment later, he swayed on his feet, his perspective that of a man again. Shona rushed over and offered her arm.

  He did not make the mistake of smiling at the gesture or refusing her help. The woman was half his width—even as a man—and more than a head shorter, but he leaned slightly on her shoulder regardless. The force of her spirit more than made up for what she might lack in stature. Had she been born Éan, Caelis had no doubt Shona would have become one of their guardians as the princess, Sabrine, had been before her marriage to the laird of the Donegal.

  Shona directed him toward a tree. “Lean here.”

  He stumbled forward, grateful when his back was against the solid trunk.

  He was always dizzy after shifting from his conriocht…and hungry. He could eat a boar.

  Talorc gave him a sympathetic look he was sure no one else saw—and if they did, would not understand.

  But Talorc and the Balmoral pack alpha had also been chosen through the sacred stone as protectors of their people.

  Not all on the Chrechte council were aware of this fact, which only went to prove that despite their efforts to live as a single people, trust between them all was not assured.

  Thus far, there was only complete disclosure between the lairds of the Sinclair, Balmoral and Donegal clans. The others on the council only knew the barest facts about the Éan’s return to the clans.

  None of them knew about Prince Eirik’s dragon form or about the return of the Faolchú Chridhe to the Faol.

  Ciara, the newly appointed celi di of the Faol, followed advice given to her through visions by an ancient celi di. She was insistent the time had not yet come to reveal the sacred stone’s return.

  Unlike the Éan who only had one protector in a generation, the Faol could have many.

  Right now, they had three.

  The Éan’s prince was a fearsome beast in his dragon form, more than capable of taking on an entire pack of conriocht, though.

  It was a good thing they were all allies.

  And if Caelis had his way, the MacLeod clan would join that group, its pack submitting to the authority of the Chrechte council as the others did.

  As much as any Highlander submitted to another.

  Most important, the MacLeod Faol would begin training in the true ancient ways of the Chrechte. His brethren would learn, as he had, that there was no honor in killing Éan simply because they shifted into birds.

  Many would resist the truth that they were not superior to other Chrechte or humanity, but Caelis had faith in his fellow wolves.

  Some would be like Sean, but more would shift their thinking just as they shifted forms.

  “Are you well?” Shona asked, her tone filled with worry.

  Caelis allowed himself to secretly enjoy the concern in her demeanor and leaned more heavily against the tree. “Aye.”

  “He’ll be hungry,” the Sinclair informed her, with a look of knowing for Caelis.

  “Because of your transformation?
” she asked.

  “Aye.” His stomach gave an angry rumble. “It’s always worse after I shift back from conriocht.”

  “Then let us get back to the keep.” She looked expectantly at Talorc.

  The laird shook his head with a smile. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to be every bit as managing as Abigail.”

  “Your wife seems all that is amiable to me.”

  “Oh, aye. When she’s of a mind to be, there is no one more charming or pleasant.” The pride in Talorc’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Women have to be strong in this world if we do not wish to be crushed under the plans of men.”

  The laird grunted surprising agreement, though Caelis couldn’t deny Shona’s words, either. She’d paid the price for Uven’s machinations and then her own father’s plans. Whether the man thought his arrangements for her were for Shona’s benefit, they had caused her a great deal of pain.

  They retrieved his sword and kilt on the way back to the keep, as well as the dead wolves. The Sinclair soldiers wrapped the bodies in MacLeod colors for transport, as was proper. There would be a joint funeral pyre lit that night on moonrise.

  Sean’s carcass was left in the forest for the animals and carrion birds, his treachery bringing its own reward.

  * * *

  Audrey watched the man Laird Sinclair had just declared her husband before he would allow Vegar to accompany her abovestairs. Things had happened so fast, but then, they could between wolves.

  The Faol understood the base drives in nature and didn’t fight those that were paramount, like that of mating.

  Besides, Audrey preferred “wife” over lehman any day.

  Vegar turned back from having dropped the bar on the door. Abigail had left some time ago, but she’d sent Ciara up with a healing tea, which Vegar had insisted on tasting before passing onto Audrey.

  Thankfully, the laird’s adopted daughter, not to mention celi di to the Faol, had not appeared offended by Vegar’s precautions.

  “She was not trying to poison me.”

  Vegar’s brows drew together in confusion. “I did not say she was.”

  “You insisted on tasting the tea before allowing me to drink it.”

  “I wanted to make sure it was not too hot.”

  “Oh.” That was…actually incredibly sweet.

  And sweet was not a word she thought of in association with her mate.

  “You are not as I expected from our first meeting.”

  He grimaced. “I believe that is a good thing.”

  She found herself smiling. “Yes, I do believe it is.”

  “I am not a bad man,” he said, clearly offended.

  Men could be so touchy. Her brother was more easily offended than either Shona or Audrey.

  Deciding words were best left at present, Audrey took a sip of the honey-sweetened beverage made from what tasted like a combination of valerian root and chamomile. She would be asleep soon.

  She wondered if Vegar realized what the tea was intended to do.

  It would seem not.

  He watched her, his hazel eyes dark with emotion she had never before welcomed in a man. Lust. She could not welcome it now, either. Audrey gripped the cup of hot drink with both her hands. She was not at all sure how he would respond to that knowledge.

  Chapter 16

  There is no greater gift than to be accepted by one’s mate.

  —NIALL OF THE SINCLAIR

  “You nearly challenged the pack alpha,” Audrey remarked, trying to understand Vegar’s irrational behavior and avoid her own contemplations.

  His insistence on caring for her had led to a near challenge and a very hasty marriage.

  “You are my mate. Mine to protect. Mine to care for.”

  She could not deny his words. Despite the fact that Lady Sinclair had followed them to Vegar’s room and insisted on treating Audrey’s injuries, he had done most of the actual tending.

  “Is that the way it is among the Éan?”

  “Mates take care of one another, no matter their race of Chrechte.”

  “My father never played nursemaid to my mother.”

  Vegar shrugged. “He is English and human.”

  “He was still her mate.” And though it was uncommon enough for a human to mate a Chrechte, when it happened, the bond was every bit as irresistible as it was between two of the Faol.

  “Not a good one, by the sounds of it.”

  “He had a wife,” Audrey admitted with shame even as she revised some of her own perceptions about the mating bond.

  It inspired lust and an overwhelming need to procreate, but the tender touches and acts of kindness she’d witnessed between the laird and his lady were not a result of it. Emotion caused that behavior and attitude.

  Would she experience that same emotion with Vegar?

  “Not your mother.”

  “Not my dam, no.”

  Vegar shook his head. “English.”

  “That is not a curse word, any more than Éan is one that should be spoken in that tone. Whatever you may wish otherwise, your mate and now wife is English.”

  Vegar sighed. “I apologize.”

  “What?”

  “You heard.”

  “You do not seem like a man who admits regret easily.”

  “I am not.”

  “So, I should feel privileged?”

  “You are my mate.”

  “And that gives me special privileges?”

  “Aye.”

  “I am still English.”

  “You are Chrechte.”

  “And a bastard.”

  “Your father is the bastard, not you.”

  “His parents were married.”

  “His behavior toward your mother and the woman who carries his name decrees him such.”

  “I always thought so,” Audrey admitted. “His wife was not an unkind woman. She treated Thomas and me better than our father did.”

  “She is a woman of great character.”

  “My mother did not think so.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  Audrey found herself smiling at something that had always before caused her pain. “Perhaps it is. Even if she had been his wife, I do not think my father would have known the first thing about tending another’s ailments, least of all my mother’s.”

  The shrug was in his voice this time. “Warriors are trained to treat wounds as well as inflict them.”

  “Are they?” She’d never heard of such a thing among the baron’s knights.

  Though that was not a definitive circumstance. Their father had taken Thomas’s training very lightly. It had stopped almost completely when they were sent to serve in the Heronshire household.

  Shona’s baron had made sure Thomas knew enough to protect his wife and the children only in a very rudimentary way.

  “Aye.”

  “Is it a Highlander tradition, do you think?”

  He lifted one negligent shoulder, as if whether anyone outside the men he trained did as they did was of no importance. Probably, it wasn’t.

  Unlike her, Vegar did not appear to be a man who would care overmuch for the opinions or accepted practices of others.

  Vegar pulled his tunic off and she gasped as his torso was revealed. To be sure, his body was all that a woman could desire in both husband and mate.

  Strong and well formed, but it was the evidence of the battle he’d so recently fought that drew forth her reaction. “You were so intent on treating my cuts, you have neglected your own.”

  “You can treat them for me now.” He removed his kilt and approached the bed, his tumescent sex worrisome.

  She nodded, his health more important than her worry or embarrassment. Holidng close with one hand the fur covering her nakedness, she sat up and reached for the wet cloth floating in a bowl of witch hazel–infused water Abigail had left behind.

  Audrey now realized the lady had done so not so her own injuries could be treated again later, but so that Vegar’s wo
unds could be cleansed.

  He sat beside her on the bedding in a way that made it easy for her to reach the majority of the small cuts and abrasions he’d sustained. “You are very tenderhearted.”

  “Because I want to treat your wounds? You treated mine as well,” she reminded him. And had in fact, ignored his own to do so.

  Again she was touched by the heart revealed in his actions despite his sometimes off-putting attitude and words.

  “Because you allowed the laird to proclaim us man and wife rather than allow me to challenge him.”

  “You were not being reasonable.”

  “There is no reason when it comes to protecting one’s mate.”

  “If you say so.” She reached out and touched him with the cloth, swiping at dried blood around one of his larger gashes. “None of these will need sewing.”

  “I am Chrechte. I will heal quickly.”

  “I know that, but I am still glad.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why?”

  She did not understand the question. “I do not wish you to be in pain.”

  “You see? Tenderhearted.”

  “It is quite normal for a person to have compassion for others.” Did he not see it so?

  “You are Faol. I am Éan.”

  “You are my mate. Besides, I am not my mother. Whatever she believed, I cannot accept that others are less simply because they shift into a different animal, or do not shift at all.”

  “You and Caelis’s lady are like sisters though you share no blood.”

  “We are.”

  “’Tis unusual among the Faol to be so close to a human.”

  “Perhaps I would have believed that before coming here, but now I am certain the Fearghall are exceptions among our kind.”

  “For the most part, but dinna be deceived, my beautiful mate, there are many Chrechte among the Éan and the Faol who believe themselves superior to humans. It is not only the Fearghall who believe the Faol are the strongest of the Chrechte and therefore superior. Do not be deceived about my people, either. Many believe we should remain apart and that we are better for the gifts we have been given through our own sacred stone beyond the ability to shift.”